


In Midnights and Cups of Coffee

by Lynchy8



Series: OMG Check Please fic [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bitty needs a hug, Friends to Lovers, Happy Threesome, Jack Needs a Hug, Kent Parson Needs a Hug, M/M, Oneshot, PB&J, Pining, Silly boys being silly, Smut, Texting, Threesome - M/M/M, boys sorting through their shit, confrontations in the rain, hot chocolate in the middle of the night, hugs for everyone, temporary break ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-20 06:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynchy8/pseuds/Lynchy8
Summary: Bitty wanted to crawl under his duvet and never show his face ever again. He was aware that drunk-dialling the ex was a thing. But oh no, he had to go ahead and drunk dial his ex-boyfriend’s *other* ex
 As Bitty tries to work out what is next for him, he stumbles into an unlikely friendship with Kent Freaking Parson, which poses the excellent question - just how do you get over Jack Zimmermann?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, gentle readers.  
> I started writing this months ago (I just checked the word doc and it says 4th August and that really is a long time ago yikes) and it sat on my computer for ages through a few rounds of writers block and then I very nearly abandoned it when the new round of amazing updates happened.
> 
> But the last few days have been inspiring so here it is, my first attempt at PB&J. 
> 
> If anyone would like me to tag anything please let me know.

Bitty was lying through his teeth again. It was a cold Thursday night in the middle of January and his bag was already packed for the trip to Providence the next day once his morning seminar was over. He could see it sitting hopefully by the door from where he sat crossed legged on the bed, Jack’s voice ringing like tin down the line.

Another Thursday night, another cancellation call. 

He’d known it was going to be hard. He’d understood what he was signing up for. After all, being a professional in the NHL was hardly a walk in the park to start with. Being the secret boyfriend of a professional in the NHL was a whole different game altogether.

They’d been making it work between them, with texts and calls and skype sessions. Sometimes they had to cut it short because Jack needed to go to bed, and sometimes they couldn’t talk because he was on the bus or in the air. And Bitty got it; Jack worked so hard all the time and it wasn’t as though Bitty didn’t have a fixtures list on his fridge, the noticeboard, the inside cover of every text book.

Thanksgiving had been a washout due to the Falconers having an away game in Canada, and then Bitty, of course, had been summoned back to Georgia for Christmas. Right now Jack was supposed to have four days off to make up for both missed holidays, so the disappointment at the cancellation was especially bitter. 

“It’s fine,” Bitty repeated, mentally re-writing his plans for the weekend ahead. Down the phone came a frustrated sigh.

“It’s not though, is it,” Jack replied, tone flat. He sounded so tired. Bitty pressed the phone tighter to his ear as though to bring them both closer. 

“Well, no,” Bitty agreed. Because it wasn’t. Jack had promised, absolutely promised, that this weekend it would be just them in his apartment. The whole weekend, except for the usual Saturday morning training session – but that was only supposed to be a couple of hours, and Bitty could work on his essay. Or snooze in Jack’s bed, either way.

Jack took a deep breath down the phone, sounding impossibly far away.

“Maybe…” he started, and Bitty felt his heart clench in his chest. Jack sighed heavily. “It’s not fair on you. You deserve so much more.”

“Jack,” and Bitty couldn’t believe how level his voice sounded. “It’s ok, really. I knew when we got together it wasn’t going to be easy. These things happen.” 

There was a pause of silence, and Bitty could hardly breathe. 

“It’s always going to be like this. At the moment you’re just annoyed. But in the long term… There’s always going to be interviews and unexpected meetings. I’m going to be on the road. I’m not going to be able to take your calls. I can’t imagine a time where I’m ever going to be able to… do all the things you want. Hand holding.” He said the last two words as if his mind was elsewhere. 

“I’m not annoyed,” Bitty protested, even though they could both taste the lie, bitter between them. But he so desperately wanted this to work. This was meant to be, it was everything he’d ever wanted. Wasn’t it?

“I just don’t want you to hate me,” Jack almost whispered down the phone.

Once they hung up, Bitty clutched Senior Bun, and sobbed unabashedly into his pillow.

+

Chowder found Bitty in the kitchen pummelling some dough on the counter, singing along to “If I Was a Boy” at the top of his lungs. Which was a relief actually, because his shower this morning had been twenty minutes of “Nothing Compares 2U” on repeat.

“Hey,” Chowder started tentatively, “Are you…”

“I’m fine,” Bitty turned the dough, flinging it hard against the counter and punching it hard. “Just fine, thank you.”

Chowder beat a hasty retreat.

+

There was a party in the Haus on Friday night. Nothing planned, per se. Just the usual crowd, and then someone put on music, and then the beers started to appear, along with more people clutching more beer. Bitty sat in the arm chair feeling comfortably drunk, curled up tight and clutching his third bottle that Holster had passed to him.

“Hey, I thought you said you were away this weekend?” and nothing was meant by it, he was only making conversation, but it felt sharp and close nonetheless. Bitty had managed to sort out his face enough to say that there had been a change of plans.

Lardo had sat on the arm of the chair, scrolling through her phone and occasionally glancing down to where Bitty was nursing his drink. 

“You ok there, Bitty?”

“You know me,” he’d replied, and she’d nodded, eyeing up the pile of pies sitting out on the counter in the kitchen.

He was grateful for the loud music and the beer and the lack of questions. No one in the room had even known he and Jack were together. He idly clicked through twitter, feeling simultaneously deflated and like he might explode, because he couldn’t even tweet _got dumped by my boyfriend_ because if walls had ears, that was nothing compared to the internet.

@K_Parse _Looking forward to a good game against the Penguins this weekend_

Bitty had been following Kent Parson since _that_ Epikegster, and at some point Kent had followed him back. There’d been a certain amount of mutual tweet-liking going on, but nothing more. Now Bitty’s thumb hovered over Kent’s name.

Fuck it.

He opened up the messenger (because even drunk Bitty wasn’t so foolish as to do this on a public forum) and after a few moments of contemplation, typed out _Guess you and me got something in common now_.

“I’m gonna set up the beer pong,” Lardo hopped off the arm, jogging him to catch his attention. “Can I count on you to do the right thing and join me on my team?”

Bitty’s phone vibrated in his hand. He looked down in surprise, a notification for a message in his inbox.

“Sure, I’ll be through in a second,” he nodded. Lardo rolled her eyes before stalking off.

From @K_Parse: _?_

Bitty swallowed. He hadn’t even expected Kent to reply. He paused for a second, wondering what on earth to say.

To @K_Parse: _we broke up_

It was more than a little awkward; it wasn’t as though Jack had spoken about anything in great detail, and Bitty didn’t want Kent to think they’d been talking behind his back. He fully expected Parse to ignore him, maybe even block him if he took offense. 

Bitty glanced over to the kitchen to see how Lardo was progressing with clearing the table to get things set up. He jumped a little when his phone buzzed in his hand once more. Bitty stared at the string of numbers constituting Parse’s reply for a clear minute before realising it must be a phone number, which was about the same time he remembered how unwise it was to discuss sensitive topics on hackable things like twitter messenger. 

Bitty tapped the number into his phone before sending the first cautious text.

_Is this your number?_

_Is this yours ;-p_

Ok, he probably deserved that. But before he could reply, another text came in quick succession.

_Bittle, right?_

_Yeah._

Bitty stared dumbly at his phone, trying to work out how he ended up making small talk over text with Kent Freaking Parson.

_Sorry bout you & Jack that sux_

The admission itself was so stunning, Bitty could only nod his head at his phone - because it definitely did suck - before typing out another “yeah” of agreement. But Kent had not only messaged him back, he had acknowledged Bitty’s original statement. 

_Can I ask where you are? You with some1?_

That was unexpected. Not that Bitty had expected anything from this exchange, but he hurried to reassure.

_Yeah I’m at the Haus. Getting drunk_

There was a timely whoop from the kitchen, and Bitty took another sip from his beer in anticipation of the game he was about to be pulled into.

_Drowning your sorrows huh? ;-p_

Bitty sighed because there it was, the crux of this conversation. There was no one to commiserate with, no one to hug him and tell him all sorts of lies about how he’ll be better off in the long run and that there are plenty more fish blah blah blah. Bitty’s world had crumbled around his ears and no one had even noticed.

_No. They don’t know anything. It’s just Friday._

“Bitty!” Lardo’s voice cut in, stunning him back into the room. “You’re up!”

“Be right there!” he yelled back.

He fired off one more message before shoving his phone in his pocket, knowing Lardo was just ruthless enough to confiscate it. He wouldn’t even remember sending it until the following day.

_Just how do you get over Jack Zimmermann?_

+

Kent had been running drills all afternoon in preparation for his match the following day. His Friday night plans extended as far as dinner, finding something on Netflix and then eight solid hours in his very large, very comfortable bed and its Egyptian cotton high thread count sheets before he did it all again tomorrow.

At no point had it involved _that._

Following Eric Bittle on twitter had been one of those rash decisions that had somehow paid off. He knew he’d be lying if he said Bittle being on the Samwell hockey team – and tweeting about Jack on the regular – hadn’t been a part of his decision to follow the guy. But the more he read, the more he was intrigued. Anyone Jack had called “short and annoying” – in French, no less – was worth looking into. And there was something comforting and normal about the day-to-day shenanigans of a college hockey team. He’d never done the college thing himself, and it was easy to get sucked into the cast of characters that Bittle had somehow made it his mission to feed with pies. Kent wondered if the Samwell team had a nutritionist and what their take on the whole pie situation was.

To say that the message from Bittle was a surprise would be a massive understatement. But that was nothing compared to the contents. 

The timer went off for his pasta, giving him a few minutes to get his brain together, because what did this kid want? Draining the hot water, Kent mulled over what the guy might know – or _thought_ he knew; he just couldn’t imagine Zimms talking about it – talking about him – to anyone. Then he re-read the message and did the math on time zones, and compassion kicked in. 

He might not understand Bittle’s motivations, but he would be damned if he ignored a human reaching out. If what Bittle said was true then it was a pretty lonely club he’d just joined.

It was a relief to know Bittle was with friends – albeit friends who were apparently in the dark about Bittle’s relationship status – and shit, those friends were probably Jack’s friends too. That would suck. Kent stared down at Bittle’s final message, all thoughts of his rather over-cooked pasta forgotten, brain whiting out because _huh_.

42, he wanted to type out. Because it was the Big Question, to life, the universe and everything. If he knew the answer to that he’d have bottled it long ago. 

+

Bitty was in the shower - not singing along to anything because he just wasn’t in the mood, thank you very much – before he remembered the conversation the night before. He zipped out of the bathroom, hair still lathered and scaring the daylights out of Chowder on the landing, to grab his phone from the bedside table.

No. Nononono. Oh no. What did he _do_?

Reviewing the conversation from the night before, Bitty wanted to crawl under his duvet and never show his face ever again. He was aware that drunk-dialling the ex was a thing. But oh no, he had to go ahead and drunk dial his ex-boyfriend’s _other_ ex. That was beyond embarrassing.

There was a final message sent about ten minutes after his own text (and lord he just wanted to sink into the ground because why had he thought that was a good idea) – a pleasant _drink lots of water and hope you feel better in the morning_.

There was nothing for it. His Ma had raised her boy right and the right thing to do was apologise.

 _I am so sorry_.

He replaced the phone on the table and retreated to the shower to rinse off the rest of the shampoo, wondering just what other indignities the world was going to throw at him. There was an essay that wasn’t going to write itself, and there were drills to be run this afternoon at Faber. 

_NBD. How’s your hangover ;-p_

Huh. Well, Kent Parson was apparently still talking to him. That was something.

_Not as bad as I probably deserve ;)_

Bitty chewed his thumbnail, trying to work out how to cram everything he was feeling into the format of a text message. The frustration, the embarrassment of drunk-texting, the gratitude for Kent’s responses, and the plain old sadness of a dream relationship that just hadn’t quite worked out.

Bitty’s phone buzzed once more in his hand.

_Hey it’s ok I get it_

+

Being seventeen, for Kent Parson, had meant having the world at his feet, with all the possibilities of the future he’d been working towards his whole life suddenly knocking at the door with larger and more ridiculous cheques. 

It had meant knocking shoulders and enthusiastic high-fives and being an unstoppable force with his best friend. Sharing nudges and winks and being invincible because nothing was going to stop them now.

Being seventeen had meant being in love. A thrilling secret just for them shared in hurried moments that had started with nervous kisses, then relief and a shared ecstasy because they both felt the same.

Being seventeen had been that churning feeling in his gut that not everything was as great as his best friend was pretending it to be. It was flat our terror because Jack wasn’t breathing.

Kent had never spoken about any of it.

The people who knew him best – his parents, his sister, his coaches and team mates – they’d all assumed his distress, his grief, was down to Jack being his best friend. It was understandable enough – his best friend was going through rehab. His best friend was also no longer taking his calls.

It wasn’t as though his heart had just been carved out and impaled to the wall or anything. Not like he felt as though he’d forgotten how to feel, locked in the ridiculous goldfish bowl of his life when he stepped forward first in the draft, feeling the enormity of Jack’s empty shoes.

Being seventeen was getting everything he’d always worked for, whilst simultaneously losing all that he wanted. There was no one to talk to, no one who would understand. And Jack had just shut him out.

Yeah, he got it.

+

Four days, twenty hours and eighteen minutes after their last conversation, Jack called Bitty. In the period in between, Bitty had lost count of how many times he stopped himself from sending a text, limiting it to just one, sending _good luck_ about an hour before the Falcon’s game against the LA Kings. The “thanks Bittle” he got in response almost made him regret it, but then nothing about this situation was his idea and he refused to feel bad for minding the manners his Ma gave him. 

So although a really petulant part of him didn’t want to take the call, he took a deep breath and tapped accept.

“Hey Bitty,” Jack’s voice was soft, tentative, and Bitty slumped back against his pillows, throat already constricting tight.

“Hey Jack,” he croaked. “Good game?”

He hadn’t meant for it to sound like an accusation, and he grimaced a little at his tone. Like he hadn’t been watching the match with everyone downstairs, wincing at the checks and cheering at the goals. 

“Yeah,” Jack exhaled. “I’m…”

“About to watch the tapes. Oh my _god_ ,” and like that, the atmosphere broke and they were both laughing down the phone.

They chatted for a bit about the game, discussing the goals, the assists, and how it seemed to be open season for checking Bad Bob’s son.

“Like our checking practise in reverse,” Jack sounded rueful. Then it went quiet, the elephant in the room looming large over the pair of them. 

“Is it… is it ok that I called?” Jack had never sounded so small, so unsure. Bitty wanted him there, just to give him a hug.

“Oh, hey, course it is,” Bitty soothed. “Y’all can call me whenever, Jack.” Down the line, Jack exhaled softly.

“Thanks, Bitty.”

+

“Hey, Zimmboni!”

Tater skated past Jack neatly, thwacking the poor puck on the ice towards the empty net.

“No cookies today, no?”

Jack sighed. It had been a week, a whole damn week, since he had – for reasons that were rapidly disintegrating in the face of reality – told Bitty that it might be better if they just stayed friends. And while they had spoken briefly on the phone, contact between them had been a little stilted as they tried to reorganise what they meant to one another. Apparently what it primarily meant was no team cookies. 

“Uh, no. Sorry Tater,” he tried for a smile. Tater skated to a halt, looking Jack up and down before clapping a huge hand down on his shoulder.

“Ah, you have the trouble in happiness, yes? All is not well between you and cookie god?”

Jack pursed his lips. He knew the boys on the team all thought he had a secret girlfriend, and that the connection between the mysterious woman and the magically appearing baked goods was practically a given, so he’d let them run with it in the hope of disguising the truth.

The split with Bitty had hit him hard. He thought he’d been doing the right thing for the right reasons, because he couldn’t bear the thought of Bitty growing tired of him, bored of the constant disappointments and having been forced back into the closet. As friends it had been great, there had been no need to hide anything. But this strange no-man’s-land of nothing was so much worse than what he’d hoped for.

“I told them,” Jack minded his words, “that it might be better if we just stay friends.”

Tater crinkled his forehead, clearly not understanding Jack’s point.

“You love them, yes?”

“Of course,” Jack answered, without any kind of hesitation. Love had never been a problem. “But I keep letting them down. Always on the road, missing their calls. It’s not fair.”

Tater stared at him for a moment more, face inscrutable.

“Don’t take this wrong way, Zimmboni. But you fool,” he pronounced, before skating off to the other end of the rink.

Jack considered that Tater might have a point.

+

It started with a text. 

Well, why shouldn’t Bitty send a quick “congratulations” text after the Aces won their game against the Penguins; Kent could ignore or acknowledge as he pleased. Bitty smiled at the winky emoji he received in reply. 

A few days later, Bitty received “good luck in your test, I’m sure you’ll ACE it” which earnt Kent a groan; and Bitty couldn’t even find a suitable emoji for just how awful that pun was. He ended up sending a selfie just so he could broadcast his complete and total disappointment in Kent’s life choices. He got a wink and gun fingers right back.

There was the usual mutual liking of tweets that had always been there, except now sometimes Kent would send him replies. He once requested a recipe for a _“1st time baker with 3hrs & a whole bunch of hungry teammates”_ and Bitty hadn’t actually expected him to make the cute little fairy cakes. But the pics of Kent and a couple of the other Aces players smiling proudly over a tray of be-winged cupcakes with multi-coloured icing were just beyond adorable.

It was nice. It was easy and effortless – they were sharing texts and snaps without expectation; little bits of silent “saw this and thought of you” moments throughout their day. And Bitty was really enjoying it.

Most of Kent’s snaps were either of his cat, or shots of the ice just before he went out for a game. There were close ups of stick tape or a couple of stacked helmets, with a humorous caption. And then one time someone had piled up the goalie pads like a scarecrow “because that’s how confident we are about tonight’s game”. Sure enough, they won that game 6-0.

+

A member of management, Jon ‘Mac’ McManaman, was standing in the lobby of the rink to meet him as Parse strolled in for the review of the match the night before. Kent liked Mac; even when he was chewing you out he still managed to leave you with something positive.

“Parson,” he greeted, motioning Kent to follow him. “I have what is quite possibly the weirdest piece of fan mail I have ever received in my twenty years on the job.”

Kent, somewhat bemused, followed Mac to where the box was sitting on a desk in the office. Smirking slightly, Mac lifted the lid. 

“Uh,” Kent looked up in confusion. Mac handed him a note that had apparently been enclosed.

_Hope your mom likes it  
~ ERB_

Oh no.

Kent wanted to facepalm, right there in the office.

“Hey cool!” Sudsey came up behind him with some of the others, peering over his shoulder. “Is that for us?”

“No!” Kent rooted round in his pocket for his phone, flicking through his contacts to find the right number.

Bitty was walking across campus to his seminar when his phone rang. He was sure it must be his mother, because it was 2016 and no one actual rang anyone anymore, surely. 

“You mailed me a _cake_.”

“Hey, Kent, how are you?” Bitty replied cheerfully, because what was his life, he’d just accepted a phone call from Kent F Parson. 

“Oh, you’re right, I’m sorry,” Kent’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I’m very well, Bittle, thank you, except that my entire team are making goggle eyes at me because someone mailed me an actual cake.”

Bitty bristled, because it wasn’t a cake, thank you very much. It was a Bakewell Tart, and it was a relief to know that it had made it to Las Vegas in once piece.

“You told me your Mom was coming to visit and you wanted to do something special for her,” he protested, wondering if this, of all things, was going to be the line he shouldn’t have crossed. “And I think you said she liked English baking.”

Kent paused for a moment, staring at the perfect Bakewell Tart sitting in the box. He had been quite worried about his Mom’s visit. It was a long way from New York and she wasn’t really someone impressed with nights on the town and flashy restaurants. He could imagine serving her a slice of this, could imagine her asking if it was store-bought and being able to say “actually no, this friend of mine baked it and sent it over special.”

“I guess I should have checked,” Bittle’s voice sounded small, almost embarrassed. “Sorry.” 

Was this guy for real? He was apologising for being thoughtful, Christ. Aware of all the ears listening in on the conversation, Kent cleared his throat.

“You’re really something, Bittle, you know that?”

Mac snorted and Kent caught his eye, shaking his head, knowing that this wouldn’t be going away any time soon. The day Kent Parson got sent a cake to give to his mom…

“It’s perfect, Bittle, thanks. I’m sure Mom’ll love it.” There was a happy noise on the other end of the phone.

“Well, be sure to let me know how y’all get on,” he replied, voice audibly brighter than a few seconds before. Then Mac tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to where Coach had just appeared, almost red in the face and wondering where the heck half his team had got to.

“I need to get on the ice. Gonna get the piss taken out of me as it is. I’ll call you later, yeah?” Kent wasn’t sure why he said that. It wasn’t as though they’d spoken on the phone before. Except now it seemed easier than texting, like they could talk properly. There was a short pause.

“Sure,” Bitty replied. Kent grinned as the call ended.

+

Three weeks, four days and twenty-three hours (not that Bitty was keeping track) after That Phone Call found Bitty lying on his bed, phone pressed to his ear, complaining at length about the infamous Haus couch which really desperately needed to be replaced. He was sure it were an actual health hazard, and couldn’t understand how his hausmates could bear to sit on it.

“You never talk about him,” Kent suddenly broke in, as though his train of thought had been elsewhere. Bitty sat up, making a questioning noise, despite the sinking feeling that he knew exactly what Kent was referring to.

“Zimms,” Kent promptly confirmed Bitty’s suspicions. He sounded perfectly relaxed, although perhaps a little perplexed. “I got the impression you messaged me because you wanted to talk about it, and you couldn’t. Not with anyone you knew anyway.”

Bitty fiddled with his fingers. The last couple of weeks had mostly involved him Not Thinking About It. He’d been Not Thinking about that conversation, about the fact that he wouldn’t get to kiss Jack anymore, and that if Jack ever came to visit the Haus again it would be as a friend, not his boyfriend. Bitty had been filling all that background noise with studying and baking, his vlog and texting Kent who seemed more than happy to indulge him.

“Well, y’all never talk about him either,” Bitty shot back, suddenly feeling defensive. 

“Fair point,” Kent’s voice was easy in reply. Bitty could almost imagine him shrugging. “And I guess you don’t have to, if you don’t want. But you can, you know.” Kent paused. “If you did want to.”

For some reason, that really did make Bitty feel better.

+

In an apparently cruel twist of fate, another Thursday night some weeks later found Bitty practically sitting on his phone waiting for it to buzz; but apart from a few innocuous twitter notifications it remained stubbornly silent.

“You’re kinda twitchy there, Bittle,” Nursey was leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen. “You need to chill.”

Bitty pulled his face into a smile, trying to act casual, and protested that he was just fine. It would probably have been more convincing if he had been able to take his eyes from his phone. It wasn’t as though he could tell Nursey he was waiting for Kent Freaking Parson to call. Secrets were nearly impossible to keep in the Haus, and he could just imagine the chirps.

Besides, there was nothing to tell. Yet.

The Aces were playing the Bruins on Friday, and then Kent didn’t have another game scheduled until the following weekend. So he’d sent Bitty a message; _wanna meet up?_

Kent F Parson wanted to meet up. After next to no consideration at all, Bitty had replied yes. He wasn’t entirely sure what meeting up would entail, and he supposed that was half of the attraction. Chatting and texting was all very well and good, but Bitty was acutely aware that the only time he and Kent had been in the same room had been… well. Yes. A lot had happened since then.

But now it was Thursday and Kent was supposed to call to finalise the details. Bitty wasn’t nervous. He absolutely wasn’t nervous, or worried that Kent was going to cancel. Nope. No Siree. And even if Kent did cancel it would probably be for entirely reasonable hockey-related reasons and Bitty wouldn’t hold it against him. He would absolutely understand.

When his phone finally did ring Bitty nearly broke the mixing bowl leaping for it. He stoically ignored the snort for the doorway; didn’t those frogs have anything better to do?

+

Kent didn’t cancel. 

He picked Bitty up three blocks away from the Haus at Bitty’s request. The others had been doing a good job of pretending like nothing was going on, but then just as Bitty snuck out of his room, Lardo had bellowed out of her bedroom door across the hall.

“ENJOY YOUR DATE, BITTY!”

“Is Bitty going on a date?” Rans appeared at the top of the stairs, Holster not too far behind him.

“What, Bitty on a date? Surely not!”

“What makes you say that, Holster?”

“Because, my dear Ransom, our young Mr Bittle here would never go on a date and not tell us. He’s our FRIEND.”

Just as Bitty reached the point where he didn’t think he could blush any more, Chowder – that sweet summer child – appeared on the landing.

“Oh, hey Bitty. You going on a date? That’s s’wawesome. Have fun!”  
Bitty made a swift exit, laughter echoing in his ears.

It wasn’t a date. They were chirping him for being dressed smartly in an outfit that had taken him a whole day to pick. But Bitty hadn’t known exactly where they were going, although it was bound to be somewhere nice, and Bitty didn’t want to let the side down by dressing poorly. It _wasn’t_ a date.

Kent’s car was ridiculous. It was bright yellow, a rental, and Bitty didn’t believe for a moment Kent’s story about it being the only one they could offer. 

“Hey,” Kent grinned through the window, sunglasses perched on his baseball cap. Bitty slid into the passenger seat, blushing as Kent looked him up and down. “You look good.”

“Eyes on the road, Mr Parson,” Bitty retorted, and just like that all his nerves went out the window. 

It… might be a date.

First they went for dinner to a nice little restaurant that Kent had found. It had a relaxed, informal atmosphere, and the food was great. They chatted for a bit, sticking to hockey as a fairly safe topic. The Aces had won their game but it had been a lively match, with the winning goal coming in the last three minutes of the final period. Then Kent had asked him about college, his course, and the last game Samwell had played against Yale which they’d won spectacularly.

“Not bad for a shitty team, huh,” Bitty prodded. Maybe it was a bratty thing to do, considering their current circumstances, and all the time that had passed since that really weird night at the Epikegster. But Bitty wasn’t going to pretend it had never happened, and part of him wanted to poke that wound and see what would happen. Bitty watched Kent’s face sober immediately from the previously light and open expression as he pinpointed exactly what Bitty was referring to. 

“I really, _really_ shouldn’t have said that,” Kent reached for a glass of water, taking a sip and shaking his head, eyes on the table cloth, and Bitty wondered what he was thinking about.

“Forgiven me yet?” Kent looked up at him through his lashes. Bitty considered him. So much of Kent Parson was this carefully constructed hockey player bro image, from the set of his shoulders down to his ridiculously expensive sneakers. And yet Bitty didn’t so much catch glimpses of the guy underneath, as watch how the two melted together. The boy who had checked that he wasn’t alone that first time Bitty had messaged him, who could have ignored Bitty’s first message altogether. But hadn’t.

“Maybe,” he replied. They sat in easy silence for a moment, Kent running a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to get his cowlick to behave, while Bitty checked the time on his phone, steadfastly ignoring all the chirps in the group chat.

“Hey,” Bitty looked up to see that Kent’s grin was back. “Want to go dancing?”

+

Just one club, Bitty promised himself. Just one club to go dancing, because he hadn’t been dancing in so long. One club and then home.

“Don’t worry, Bits,” Kent winked. “I’ll get you home safe and sound.”

Bitty loved dancing. The club was packed; Kent had been nodded right through by the guy on the door without having to wait on line, Bitty in tow. The bass was thumping, and Bitty could feel it vibrate right through him on the dance floor. He closed his eyes, losing himself to the music.

Two hands slid to his waist, and Bitty opened his eyes to find Kent matching his moves, eyes sparkling in the flashing lights. 

“Someone might see,” Bitty called out, not sure if Kent would hear him over the music.

“So? We’re only dancing,” Kent was laughing, carefree. In the dark they could be anybody. But Bitty couldn’t stop some old anxieties spiking. He wasn’t going to be responsible for Kent being dragged by the tabloids.

“We don’t have to dance if you don’t want,” Kent removed his hands, wearing his solemn face, and Bitty was learning to recognise it for whenever Kent wanted him to know he was listening and taking him seriously. “But if you’re worried about my honour then don’t. There’s always talk, always rumours.”

Bitty stared up at him in confusion. He tried not to make comparisons, but he knew that if Jack had ever been outed it would possibly have ended his career. It was one of the main anxieties in their relationship. Kent didn’t seem to share these concerns.

“So tomorrow I’m in a gossip column,” Kent shrugged. “There’ll be another far-more-interesting story the day after.”

Kent’s hand was back on Bitty’s hip. “So you want to stop?” Kent bit his lip, looking Bitty up and down in blatant invitation. “Or do you want to keep dancing…”

Beyoncé answered the question for them. 

It helped that Kent was a really good dancer. Bitty spun round, closing his eyes again and surrendering completely to the beat. Kent pressed up tight behind him, hooking his chin on Bitty’s shoulder, calling out to check it was ok, and Bitty reached behind him because it was definitely more than ok.

As they danced, Kent’s hands skirted over him before wrapping round Bitty’s waist, and Bitty felt the ghost of a kiss on his throat, sending a thrill spiking down his spine. He reached up to knot his fingers through Kent’s hair, twisting round, and then they were kissing.

When they broke apart, Bitty stared up at him, and he could see Kent’s lips moving, but all he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears. But then Kent took his hand, smiling at him – a real smile, not just that trademark grin. 

“Bits?”

He could only nod as Kent led him out of the club. They walked quickly hand in hand back to the car park, the night air stinging their cheeks, and Bitty was glad to slide into the passenger seat. For a moment they just stared at each other, an unspoken _now what_ hanging in the air, and Bitty couldn’t help it. He let out a snort of laughter, and then they were both cackling. Kent held onto the steering wheel while Bitty creased up in his seat. What was his life?

“What do you want, Bits?” The laughter died down, and then Kent was looking at him intently, his hands a soft and calming warmth on Bitty’s skin. Bitty tried to get his head on straight so he could answer the question.

“I mean, I could go full High School and blow you in the back of my rental,” Kent threw out casually, a wicked gleam in his eye as Bitty inhaled sharply at that mental image. Kent was biting his lip again, looking down demurely. “But I think you deserve better.”

He leant forward to kiss the corner of Bitty’s mouth, and then his jaw. “Come back with me?”

+

The pair of them giggled their way up to Kent’s hotel room. Bitty was stone cold sober, and fairly certain Kent had stuck to soda all night. Yet they were giddy and laughing, shuffling through Reception and into the elevator as though it was 3am rather than not quite 10pm.

They kissed as the elevator took them up to Kent’s floor, and Bitty couldn’t seem to get enough as he ran his hands across new and unfamiliar muscled shoulders. Somehow Kent managed to get the door open, and then it was a rush for the bed, barely bothering with the light switches. Shirts went in all directions, before Bitty dropped onto the soft mattress, breathless and delighted when Kent followed him down.

“You’re so damn hot, Bits,” Kent sighed, kissing down Bitty’s neck and along his collarbone before dipping down to tease at one nipple with his tongue. “Can I…?”

“Please,” Bitty breathed, clenching his hands in Kent’s hair, body keening at the kisses making their way down and down. 

“You good?” Kent checked in again, hands hovering reverently above Bitty’s fly, waiting patiently for Bitty. For his part, Bitty rested up on his elbows, taking in the sight of Kent with kiss-red lips and thoroughly ravished hair, sticking up even more than usual.

“Yeah,” he nodded, suddenly feeling shy as Kent peeled him out of his jeans. When Kent leaned down to kiss his thigh, Bitty slumped back down against the mattress, covering his face, ignoring Kent’s slightly mocking chuckle.

“Ah, Bits. Don’t hide,” he chided, deftly manoeuvring him out of his jeans and briefs.

“You shush – ah!” Bitty’s complaint came to a sudden halt because strong hands were on his thighs and Kent was breathing softly at the sensitive skin there. Bitty shivered. Then Kent was pulling Bitty across the bed towards the edge, so he could kneel down on the floor.

“Perfect,” he enthused, looking at Bitty through his lashes. “And the position ain’t bad either.”

“You sure do chat a lot for someone who wanted to blow me in the back of their car,” Bitty chirped, poking Kent in the side with his toe. And Kent was giving him that look again, giving Bitty is complete attention, searching his face for any kind of reticence. Bitty squirmed against the mattress under such scrutiny.

“Y’ok?” 

“Yeah,” Bitty nodded, and then _oh_.

Kent’s mouth was magic. Groaning unabashedly, Bitty pushed his shoulders back into the mattress, keening into the sensation and squirming under Kent’s attention. His hands twisted into the bed sheets, just so he had something to cling onto so he didn’t slide right off the earth. Then he was wrapping his legs round Kent’s shoulders, raising his hips because _damn_.

“You like that, huh?” Kent pulled off him with a pop.

“You, uh, you just carry right on there, Kent Parson,” Bitty breathed, eyes clenched tight shut at the sensation overload consuming him. Kent obligingly went back to it, fingers tracing and teasing, flirting around Bitty’s arse making him squirm and want and keen loudly, but never pressing where Bitty desperately wanted him to press.

“Ah, Kent… please,” Bitty moaned, trying to wriggle into position so Kent would get the idea. Kent hummed round Bitty’s cock, sending more shivers up his spine. “Did no one ever teach y’all it was rude to tease?”

Kent pulled off him once more, before licking a stripe up his cock.

“No, but I was taught not to speak with my mouth full,” he quipped, before ducking the pillow Bitty promptly threw at his head.

“Ugh, get up here!” Bitty dragged Kent up to him, kissing him quiet and dragging him down onto the bed. He let himself be rolled over, bracketing Kent’s hips with his thighs, Kent looking up at him with sparkling eyes.

They began to move, rolling their hips, Kent thrusting up while Bitty sat in his lap grinding down, Bitty just wanting to consume and be consumed. Kent bit down on his lip, making Bitty moan, and strong hands at his hips held him in place as their movements grew more frantic. 

They wrapped their hands round one another, moving intently towards the delicious edge. At the last minute, Bitty moved his hands to Kent’s shoulders, pushing himself down and throwing his head back as he came. Bitty slumped, curling into Kent’s chest while Kent continued to pump his own cock, and there was a delightful sting when Kent bit down on Bitty’s shoulder as his orgasm took him. 

A few moments passed; a moment to breathe, to let the world go right side up again. Bitty continued to cling to Kent, who kissed his cheek while soothing fingers ran up and down his back, the desperation of the past few moments having passed. 

“Hey,” Kent murmured, not really wanting to break the spell. Bitty’s eyes blinked open, and he smiled.

“Hey,” he croaked in reply. They kissed, almost chaste. Then Bitty’s eyes cleared and he sat up. “Oh my gosh, what time is it?!”

Kent leaned over to where his jeans lay abandoned on the hotel room floor. He felt sticky and fucked out, and wanted nothing more than the cuddle up and go for a snooze. However he had a feeling he knew where this was going. Sure enough, Bitty took one look at the clock on his phone before leaping off the bed with a yelp.

“You could always stay?” Kent offered. Damn but he wanted Bitty to stay. There could be a round two. Maybe three. Maybe glorious morning sex. 

“Believe me, I would love to stay,” Bitty replied, shimmying back into his jeans. “But the chirps I got just leaving the Haus would be nothing if I don’t make it home!”

Kent shrugged. While he’d never done the college thing, he could at least understand a team that was far too invested in his love life. They were a good bunch of guys and they totally had his back, but they sure could be nosy. Resigning himself to driving Bitty home, he began to pull on some clothes to make himself look presentable and less recently-fucked.

“You know I’d have liked to have made you breakfast,” Bitty rolled his eyes as he finished pulling his shirt back on. 

“You’d have _ordered_ me breakfast, Kent Parson, unless this hotel room his hiding a kitchen in the closet.” Kent laughed, which just made Bitty blush.

“Ok, you got me. How ‘bout we compromise then?” Kent grinned over to him. “Let me take you out for brunch?”

+

After Kent dropped Bitty home - round the corner as requested, and with a parting hug and one last kiss – he sat in his car for a while trying to work out where the hell his head was. Bittle had been something unexpected, that was for damn sure. 

What scared Kent the most was that the offer for breakfast hadn’t even been a line. Kent wondered what it would be like to wake up to Eric Bittle. And then he thought about coming home to him, having him every day. And that’s was when he knew he was in way deeper than he thought.

+

It was 3am and Bitty still couldn’t sleep. On his return he’d received a solemn standing ovation from Rans and Holster, before the former passed the latter some dollar bills.

“Damn, Bittle, but I was sure you wouldn’t be back tonight!” Rans sighed, disappointed. 

“Like I told y’all a hundred times,” Bitty replied airly, “it wasn’t a date. Just dinner and dancing.”

“Oh well, dinner and dancing!” Holster exclaimed, elbowing Rans hard in the ribs. “That’s nothing like a date at all!”

Bitty ignored them, heading for the stairs.

“You tired, Bitty?” they called after him. “ _Shagged out_ , are we?”

But while it was true that his body was thrumming from the dancing and the sex, he just couldn’t get his brain to switch off. Underneath the heady joy of the evening was a thick layer of anxiety. What on earth had he been thinking having sex with Kent Parson?!

That hadn’t been the plan when he’d agreed to meet up. He’d been hoping for a good night, to get out of his head for a few hours, to do something different with what was hopefully a new friend. And Kent… Kent had been wonderful. It had all been fantastic. And that right there was the main crux of his turmoil now, because wasn’t it all too soon?

He was still in love with Jack. There was no doubt about it, just thinking about Jack stung, his absence sharp in Bitty’s life. And not that anybody had asked him, but if they were to enquire just how long it had been since Jack had dumped him it would be nine weeks, two days and five hours. Bitty squashed down the wave of guilt, reminding himself that it had been Jack’s choice that they go back to friends. Their romantic relationship was over – and Bitty was absolutely not going to cry about that at 3am after being taken apart in a hotel room by a really hot guy. A really hot guy who wasn’t Jack Zimmermann.

He wasn’t ready for another relationship. It had been a magic evening but he couldn’t do that to Kent and he shouldn’t do that to himself. He just hoped he hadn’t fucked up too badly.

In the end Bitty must have slept a little because the next thing he knew his alarm was blaring and he dragged himself out for brunch. Kent was already in a booth looking gorgeous and more put together than anyone had a right to, and Bitty got a flash of the night before when his fingers had been knotted in that well-gelled hair. At sight of Bitty, Kent’s expression first lit up and then dropped into concern, so Bitty guessed he was wearing most of last night’s anxieties loud and clear on his face. He took a deep breath and dived in head first.

“Ah, shit,” Kent sighed, as Bitty slunk into the booth. He nudged his own coffee over and Bitty took it gratefully. It was surprisingly sweet, something with hazelnut. “What is it, Bits?”

And where could Bitty start? Already Kent was looking like a kicked puppy. 

“It’s ok,” he sighed, when Bitty didn’t answer. “Though I’m sorry. I never would’ve wanted to add to your regrets…”

“Oh no!” Bitty interrupted, because he never wanted Kent to think he regretted it. Not at all. “It’s not that. You were…” he lowered his voice, casting a quick glance around the café. “You were great.”

Kent visibly perked up at the admission, before confusion returned. “You can tell me anything, Bits,” he murmured softly, hand twitching like he wanted to reach across. But this was a not a nightclub, and Bitty was peripherally aware of the curious glances coming from a table by the counter as they tried to work out if it really was a Las Vegas ice hockey player having brunch in their local café. 

Bitty sat up straight, meeting the matter head on, hands clasped firmly in his lap to stop him fiddling with them. He took a deep breath.

“I’m not over… our ex,” he explained, as quietly as possible. “I really…” he swallowed, throat dry. “I really like you, Kent. And last nice was great, it really was. But I’m not… I’m not…” he trailed off, but Kent was nodding, leaning forward in his seat so he could clap Bitty on the shoulder. To anyone watching it would be a friendly gesture, completely innocent.

“Hey, Bits, its ok. Deep breath there, come on. It’s ok,” he soothed, squeezing Bitty’s shoulder before letting it go. His face – his ridiculous face – was wearing that expression again, soft and sympathetic and reassuring, and damn Bitty just wanted a hug because Kent Freaking Parson was being unreasonably nice to him, even though Bitty had essentially just given him the “it’s not you it’s me” speech.

“Of course you’re not. I never thought you were. I keep saying this but, _I get it_ ,” he enunciated meaningfully. Bitty braved a small smile, which Kent returned.

“Look, Bits. Whatever happens or doesn’t happen with us, that’s all good. And we’re still friends, right?” He asked the last bit with a certain amount of trepidation, and Bitty caught a flash of vulnerability under Kent’s carefully crafted veneer.

“Of course,” Bitty exhaled, feeling a weight lifting. Then Kent was smiling at him, wide and open, before it morphed into a smirk.

“Good, because the team really liked those last batch of cookies.” Kent threw his arms casually over the back of the booth, the tension suitably broken. Bitty snorted, throwing a napkin at him, and Kent allowed it to hit him full on the face, anything to make Bitty laugh.

A few minutes later, the waitress came by to take their order. Bitty found that his previously non-existent appetite had returned with a vengeance, and soon he was tucking in to a large pile of blueberry pancakes, while they prattled on about everything and nothing.

Kent was right, it didn’t need to be complicated between them. 

When Bitty got back to the Haus, contented and stuffed pull of pancakes, Lardo cornered him in the kitchen.

"Come on then,” she folded her arms, staring at him intently. “Spill the deets.”

“There aren’t any deets,” he replied, aiming for lofty and coming across instead as guilty as sin. “I told you it…”

“Wasn’t a date… yeah yeah,” Lardo’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

“I really can’t talk about it,” Bitty admitted at last, dropping his eyes. “Please… everything is so raw at the moment, there really isn’t anything… it really _was_ dinner and dancing.”

Lardo’s face softened and she reached out to pull him into a hug. Bitty sighed into it because damn he really needed that hug. 

“Ok, ok, we’ll drop it for now,” she sighed, somewhat grudgingly. “But you know where your money goes next time you’re at Faber.” Bitty gave her a wobbly smile, ever so grateful for her understanding.

“Oh, and Bitty,” she called after him as he turned to go up the stairs. “It’s nice to see you smiling again.”

+

Jack scrolled through the old group chat, catching up on all the chirps aimed at Bitty who had apparently been on a date Saturday night. With furrowed brow and aching heart, he wondered if it really had been a date – Ransom and Holster certainly seemed to think so. And then there was Lardo calling an official halt to proceedings “until further notice”. The response was a series of boos, and accusations that her silence had been bought. The banter made Jack suddenly miss the Haus like a physical pain. 

Part of him really wanted to ask Bitty about it, to see if he could find out the truth of it. But he guessed he’d lost those sorts of privileges some months back.

+

The Aces travelled to play the Falconers in the fourth week of March. There was a certain amount of nonsense in the press about the match, even though their paths had crossed the previous autumn. That match had finished in a draw, and hands had been shaken at the end just like any other match. Jack was pinpoint focussed on the game, like always. He wasn’t going to let anything distract him.

“Yo Zimms!” Kent called across the ice, half way through the third period. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“Why does everyone keep saying that…” but Kent was gone, tearing down the ice towards the Falconers goal.

After the match, Jack was just about to duck out of the rain into his car when he caught sight of Parse making his way out of the rink, bag thrown over his shoulder, and his words echoed round Jack’s head. Before he knew what he was doing, Jack was striding across the car park, calling out Kent’s name.

Kent wasn’t alone; two other Aces players hovered at his shoulder, sending each other cautious glances because why the heck was Jack Zimmermann yelling at their captain. Kent nodded at them, muttering that it was ok, they could go on ahead. They didn’t look too happy about it, but walked off anywhere, still shooting worried looks over their shoulders.

“Zimms,” Kent nodded in greeting. 

“What did you mean?” Jack cut right to it, like a hunting dog that had caught a scent. “On the ice,” he clarified. 

“Come on Zimms,” Kent scoffed, or at least attempted to. “What happens on the ice is just ice, you know that.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, puzzling through Kent’s words. 

“Not you,” he said at last. “I know you, Kenny.” It was a low blow, and Kent couldn’t help but swallow, feeling hot under the collar with Jack staring at him like that. “What did you mean?”

Something inside Kent snapped. He’d been trying to talk to Jack for fucking _years_. And now, after everything, in a car park in the fucking rain, NOW, Jack Zimmermann wanted to talk.

“Are you serious?” Kent glared up at him. It brought Jack up short, because it was so different from their last conversation. “Do you _actually_ want to have this conversation?”

Jack paused. He knew things had ended with Kenny more than badly. And he knew Kent had reached out to him and that it had ended up making things even worse. But Kenny was like an itch, and Jack found that yeah, he was finally ready for this conversation. All at once Kent’s expression changed. “Fuck,” he exhaled. “You are serious.”

Kent turned and started walking quickly towards what was presumably his rental car. Jack stared after him, gaping slightly, feeling more confused than ever.

“Unless you want that journo over there to have the scoop of the century,” Kent called over his shoulder. Jack got with the program and jogged after him. 

The rental car felt like neutral territory. There was nothing of Kent in here apart from his kit thrown on the back seat. Jack thought back to Kenny’s first car, a rusty old VW Beetle that he said he wanted to do up, as soon as he got the money. Jack wondered what had happened to it, if Kenny had ever completed that ambition.

Kent took off his baseball cap, chucking it onto the dash. Outside the rain continued to drum on the roof of the car.

“You,” Kent sighed, sounding impossibly tired. “You, Jack Zimmermann, are a fucking idiot.” He looked up at Jack as though daring him to say something in contradiction. Jack kept quiet, waiting. “You push people away, people who care about you. Stop fucking doing that.”

An uncomfortable silence descended as Jack mulled that over. Kent scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration.

“Look,” he began, and all at once he looked ridiculously young. “I know what happened was fucked up. We were young, Zimms. We had no fucking clue what we were doing and we just did the best we could in that weird glass bowl we were living in. And yeah, our best just wasn’t enough and I get that and I’m _sorry_. But cutting me out like that wasn’t ok.”

Jack swallowed, feeling like he was falling backwards through time. He hadn’t opened that door for ages, and for good reason; he’d never felt ready to even approach it. But now the door was thrown open and he was faced with the memory of the boys they had been, and Kenny was right. They had been kids up to their necks in stuff they hadn’t the first idea how to deal with.

“I know,” Kent continued, voice cracking. “I know what I did also wasn’t ok too.” He stared down at his hands resting on the steering wheel, not able to meet Jack’s eye. “I lashed out to hurt you, and I really am sorry for that. Really sorry,” he shook his head, staring out the window at the rain. “It wasn’t a good way to deal with that.”

Jack’s mind was reeling. All of this spilling out of Kent like he was cleaning a wound, just getting it out of himself. 

“I just wanted my friend back” Kent spoke so quietly, it was almost as if he didn’t want Jack to hear him.

“Ok,” Jack made up his mind. He knew, from an objective point of view, that he hadn’t been the only one to go through what had happened in the run up to the draft. He knew the effect it had had on his parents, however much they had tried to hide it from him. And logically he knew Kent would have been upset too. Maybe they should have forced the issue years ago, ripped the bandaid off before either of them were ready just so that they both weren’t carrying all this baggage with them.

“What,” Kent was staring at him, mouth slack as he tried to guess Jack’s meaning.

“I’m sorry I cut you out,” Jack intoned, measuring his words carefully. “I needed to do it, but I can see how it would have hurt you.”

Kent just gaped at him and Jack wondered what he’d done wrong now.

“Fuck, Zimms, you don’t owe me anything,” Kent exclaimed, sitting back in his car seat. “It’s ok for me to mourn what we had, but you don’t owe me a damn thing. You moved on.” Kent waved his arm in the air to illustrate his point.

“What about you?” Jack prodded gently.

“I’m… getting there.” Kent suddenly smiled, soft and distant, and Jack believed him. It couldn’t be more of a contrast from the last time they’d tried to have this conversation.

“Therapist working out, eh?” Jack ventured, hoping it was ok to try to joke about something shared. Kent rolled his eyes.

“Therapy ain’t so bad,” he conceded.

“Friends,” Jack nodded, deciding it there and then. “Let’s try friends.”

They both left the rink with new numbers in their phones.

+

Later that night, Kent rang Bitty from his hotel room. He supposed, being only forty minutes away from the Haus, he could have driven over to talk in person. But he was tired from his flight and the game, and he had an even earlier start in the morning to fly back to Vegas. Besides, his brain was all over the place from his conversation with Jack.

“We actually talked,” he sounded like he couldn’t quite believe it himself. “I mean… you gotta understand, Bits, Jack hasn’t spoken to me in years. Not properly.”

Bitty listened intently, and Kent made an apologetic noise down the phone. “Sorry, Bits, this must be weird for you.”

“No, it’s ok,” he assured, “I’m glad you called.” Kent sounded strange on the phone, and Bitty could hear how freaked out he was by the encounter. In a good way, definitely, but shaken up nonetheless. Bitty was happy to be there the way Kent had been there for him.

“Hey,” Kent made an enquiring noise, like something had just occurred to him. “Do you still send Zimms cookies?”

“Uhhhh,” Bitty tried to dodge the question, giving himself away in the process. Truth be told, Bitty hadn’t sent Jack anything since the break off. It wasn’t meant to be a deliberate snub, but it had been difficult to redefine their relationship and Bitty wasn’t sure how welcome baked goods would be, or what sort of message they sent.

“Well you should,” Kent sounded cheerful, a sort of benevolence to his tone, but then he paused, tone softer. “Only if you want to, obvs.”

+

Jack was slicing vegetables ready to throw in the pan to make a batch of soup when the knock came at his door. Through the peep hole he could make out the uniform of a UPS guy, and felt his heart speed up.

“Delivery for… oh wow,” the bored expression slid from the guy’s face as he recognised Jack Zimmermann standing at the door. After the usual stammering, the attempt to maintain professionalism, and Jack offering to sign something else for him which was enthusiastically accepted, Jack took delivery of his parcel.

He stared down at the box of cookies; raspberry and white chocolate – and the scent was mouth-watering. But far more precious was the post-it note included inside.

 _Hope this is ok_  
_~B_

He put it on the fridge where the others were still hanging, because Jack just couldn’t bring himself to take them down.

The next day, he took the cookies into training. Tater smacked him hard on the back again, enquiring jovially whether all was well once more. Jack could only shrug because no, nothing more had changed since they had last spoken.

“You are still fool, Zimmboni, and you should give me her number so I date her myself!”

+

It started with a text.

Bitty left the library, brain ringing with facts to put into the paper he had to write, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. 

_The boys liked your cookies_ followed by _How are things?_

Bitty smiled down at his phone, replying to Jack’s text with a quick update about being in the library and his paper. He wasn’t expecting Jack to reply, but his phone buzzed almost straight away, Jack asking about his subject.

Then later that evening Bitty nearly fell off his bed when his phone started ringing. He knew Kent had a match, but it was Jack ringing. 

“Hey, how’s the essay?” 

“Oh, um,” Bitty glanced at his monitor containing about five hundred words of nonsense. “It’s going great.”

“That bad, huh?” Jack chirped.

“Jack Zimmermann, did you just quote Star Wars at me?” Bitty giggled, lying back on his bed in preparation to chat, which they did for nearly an hour.

Two days later, Bitty got a notification that he had been added by JackLZ1990. He added him right back, and soon there was a picture of Jack’s eye and half his nose, with a caption “how does this work again?” and Bitty nearly walked into two people coming the other way, he was laughing so hard.

_Did you get snapchat?_

Jack stared down at his phone, aware of his heart thumping in his chest. It had been Kent’s idea. They’d been texting a little, working their way forwards to a new friendship, and it had been nice. Then Kent had told him that he and a couple of friends had this app, and that Jack should get it too so he could be included in the photos Kent took.

_Yes, did you get it ok?_

He didn’t know why he felt so nervous, but he was soon smiling when the little yellow notification flashed up that Bitty had sent him a snap. Bitty’s face filled the screen, that gorgeous sunshine smile spilling through, winking and holding up a thumb in approval.

After that there was no stopping the snaps. Bitty sent through shots of the Haus and Faber, of Chowder doing a kegstand after saving a record number of goals. Meanwhile Jack sent snaps of his efforts in the kitchen, of the sunrises while he was out jogging, and his team mates during training. 

From Kent came endless pictures of his cat, and even some videos of Kent arguing with his cat, plus some shots of the strip at midnight, lights twinkling. Jack was vaguely aware that Bitty must be getting those snaps too, because in reply to any snaps about the Vegas heat, Bitty inevitably sent a pouting selfie accompanied by the poor temperature at Samwell. Spring may have sprung but it was still nowhere near the basking warmth Bitty was used to. Jack couldn’t help but smile at him bundled up in hat, scarf and mittens.

It had been eleven weeks, five days and one hour, and Jack realised he was still hopelessly and ridiculously in love with one Eric R Bittle. 

+

“So let me see if I have this right,” Kent balanced his phone on his shoulder whilst stirring his noodles. “You still text every day, you send each other snaps at every given opportunity, and you talk on the phone at least three times a week, and you still send him cookies for his team.”

Bitty hummed down the phone that yeah, that was pretty much it.

“Bits, don’t get mad, but what is the difference between this and dating?”

+

It was just gone two in the morning when Kent decided to do something. Something good. Something for the two people in his life he wanted to see happy more than anything else.

Even if it was going to hurt like hell.

+

“You need to come to Vegas!” Kent didn’t even pause for a greeting before jumping right into his reason for calling. Bitty continued to watch his batter being mixed efficiently by the KitchenAid his mother had bought him for Christmas. 

“Hello, Kent, how are you, I’m just fine, thank you kindly. Making a cake,” he replied cheerfully, and Kent groaned over the phone at him.

“Bits,” he grumbled. “I’m being serious. There are too many sad tweets about the weather up there and besides, I need you to be formally introduced to my cat.”

“Oooooh,” Bitty murmured in wonder. “Is this a Big Deal? Like midway between meeting the friends and meeting your parents?”

“Damn right,” Kent shot back. “I’m sorry but what my cat says is actual law. If she doesn’t like you then oh boy!”

Bitty clicked off the mixer, deciding that the batter was perfectly smooth and ready for the tin already lined and waiting on the counter.

“Come on Bits,” Kent cajoled. “Come to Vegas for the weekend, my treat.”

It certainly sounded attractive. Bitty had never been to Vegas before, and it could be fun. Maybe they would go dancing again.

“Ok, sure. Sounds like fun,” he agreed. Kent whooped loudly over the phone. 

+

Jack had never thought he could ever feel this tired. Last month he’d played fourteen games in seven different cities and had crossed the Canadian border twice. There were days he had woken up in a hotel room and had no idea where he was. It was a punishing routine of reviewing, training and hockey, and he was loving every second.

He now had a few days before his next home game, and then his next three matches were at home; some time to centre himself a little. The end of the season was nearly upon them, and he wanted to make things right with Bitty. Tater had been right. God help him, _Kent_ had been right. Jack really had been an idiot to push him away. He just hoped the damage wasn’t irreparable.

As he left his final training session before his break, he saw an email from Kent in his inbox. 

_Zimms,_  
_Get your incredible ass out to Vegas this weekend, seeing as you’re a man of leisure for the next few days. I promise you won’t melt in the heat_.  
_Kenny_

Jack pondered the email. Six months ago he would have deleted it without a thought. Six weeks ago he would have probably said no. But things was different. Kent was different, and he seemed on board with how Jack was different, and all those things pointed favourably to a trip to Vegas being a good thing. They could hang out properly, put this new friendship of theirs to the test.

He fired back a response before switching on his laptop so he could look up flights. Maybe a holiday to Vegas was just what he needed. 

+

The heat smacked Bitty in the face as he stepped out of the airport, and he sighed happily. Even though it was evening it was still well over 60 degrees, which was way more agreeable than the 43 degrees he had left behind. As much as he loved Samwell, you just couldn’t take the southerner out of the boy, and one thing Bitty really did miss about Georgia was the heat.

Kent was all cocky smiles and sunglasses and the ever-present baseball cap. He pulled Bitty into a tight hug before leading him over to the least Kent Parson car Bitty had ever seen.

“A VW Bug!” he exclaimed, eyeing up the vintage blue car with a wary eye. 

“Excuse you, she’s a lady and I know your mother gave you better manners than that!” Kent chirped. 

“My apologies,” Bitty muttered, stepping up to the car with a certain amount of trepidation. Kent beamed proudly.

“She’s a beaut. Bought her when I got my license and did her up myself. She purrrrs,” Bitty giggled at Kent’s enthusiasm, but his heart swelled.

Kent took Bitty’s case to throw it in the trunk, but made no move to get in the car.

“So, uh, what say we go get a coffee?” he asked, trying to look natural and not succeeding.

“Here?!” Bitty exclaimed, turning back to the airport he’d just exited. “Why on earth?!”

“Well,” Kent shrugged. “Why not?”

Bitty folded his arms, looking about as unimpressed as he could get.

“Kent Parson,” he intoned, and Kent gave up, throwing his hands up defensively.

“Ok, ok,” he nodded, dropping the act entirely. “Just, don’t be mad ok?”

Now Bitty felt completely lost, no idea what Kent was babbling on about.

“Why would I be mad?” he enquired. Kent looked up at him, hands thrust in pockets and smiling sheepishly. 

“Kent Parson, what did you _do_?!”

+

Jack waited patiently by the baggage reclaim, keeping an eye out for his case while sweeping the arrivals area for any sign of Kent. The flight had been pleasant enough, and it had been nice to fly for normal tourist reasons without the need to psych himself up for an impending game.

Case safely retrieved, he spotted Kenny in the crowd and raised his arm in a wave, before registering the fact that Bitty was walking just behind him, beet red and face blank.

“Zimms!” Kent greeted him, voice unnaturally high pitched as he clapped Jack on the back in a friendly hug. “Good to see you.” Jack returned the hug on autopilot.

“And, uh, I invited Bitty too,” Kent announced, somewhat unnecessarily. Bitty stared up at Jack with big eyes.

“Hi Jack,” he croaked.

“Bitty,” Jack replied, not sure whether they should hug or not. Twelve weeks and twenty hours had never felt longer.

“Right then, this your case?” Kent picked it up without waiting for Jack to answer and turned towards the exit. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

The trip back to Kent’s apartment was excruciating. Jack had paused, staring at the car in a moment of shock – and Bitty remembered what Kent had said about buying it as a teenager. But then he seemed to pull himself together, opening the car door and pulling the seat forward for Bitty to climb in the back.

“She looks great, Kenny,” Bitty only just heard what Jack said, not that Jack was looking at Kent, eyes fixed firmly on the car like he’d seen a ghost.

“Yeah, well,” Kent muttered. Then they were all inside and he started up the engine, and Bitty was staring at the back of Jack’s head.

As they drove through the city, Kent tried to keep up a running commentary of noticeable landmarks, but got very little feedback from the two guys in his car. As they pulled into his parking spot, Kent reflected this might have been the worst idea ever, and it was only Friday night.

But everyone got out of the car and made their way peaceably up to the apartment, cases in tow. No one had demanded to go home on the next flight, so that had to mean something.

“Anyone want a drink?” He strode across the open plan lounge towards the kitchen, grabbing a couple of glasses from the shelf and running the chrome tap. There was no reply from either of them, and when Kent turned around, Jack and Bitty seemed to be engaged in a sort of weird staring contest. He sighed, filling a glass with water and downing it.

“Look,” Kent walked back to where Bitty and Jack were still loitering by the door as though ready to bolt. “I can’t believe I have to be the fucking adult here. Just sit down already.”

Obediently, they made their way over to the square of sofas set in the conversation pit, sitting down across from each other. Bitty seemed to fold up in on himself, tucking his limbs together as though not wishing to take up too much room.

Kent stayed standing, moving so that he was in front of both of them, wondering how the hell he could make this better.

Jack looked completely stumped, face clouded with confusion, and honestly Kent just wanted to shake him. Instead he turned to Bitty, who was looking up at him warily.

“Bitty,” Kent started, trying to work out what he wanted to say. “You must know I like you a lot –” Jack made a noise, at which point Kent rounded on him, eyes flashing.

“And you, Jack Zimmermann, do not get to make that noise because you _dumped_ him.” Jack flinched, but didn’t interrupt and Kent carried on mercilessly. “And me, for that matter. Of course I fucking like him – look at the guy! He’s a ball of actual sunshine with bonus pie and a great ass. So you can just shut up.”

Jack pressed his mouth firmly shut, nodding stiffly. Satisfied, Kent deflated slightly before turning back to Bitty.

“I like you Bits,” Kent repeated, somewhat helplessly. “And that’s why I want you to be happy. You guys,” he gestured between the two of them, “need to work it out because,” Kent turned to Jack, glaring at him with surprising force. “He’s worth it, Jack. So fucking worth it. Don’t be an ass and let this pass you by.”

It wasn’t exactly a Shakespearean monologue to rally the troops, but it was about as raw and honest as he could be, and Kent hoped it got the message across. These two were ridiculous. He loved them, heaven help him he really did. And they needed to get their damn shit together.

“I like you too,” Bitty muttered quietly, aware of all the eyes suddenly on him, the way Jack’s shoulders dropped completely, while Kent looked both delighted and horrified all in one go. 

+

Bitty groaned, rolling over in the unfamiliar bed in one of Kent’s spare bedrooms. Of all the things he’d had in mind when he’d agreed to this trip, this hadn’t even figured on the list.

After all the amazing and terrible revelations of the afternoon, the three of them had decided to sleep on it. Jack professed to be tired from the flight, and Bitty didn’t really want to be stuck in awkward silence with Kent and so had slipped off to bed too. It shouldn’t have been a lie; he had been to lectures that afternoon, before flying down to Vegas, and the time difference gave everything an edge of unreality. But sleep just wouldn’t come.

This was the eye of the storm; a quick reprieve before they dealt with the huge steaming pile of everything the following day. Bitty wanted to sink through the floor with embarrassment for admitting his feelings for Kent in front of Jack. Not that it was a lie and he would never have taken them back. But in front of Jack…

Kent might have had a point – Jack had been the one to call time on their relationship – but that didn’t mean Bitty was in any way over him. He still loved him, still missed him. Still loved chatting to him on the phone and sending him snaps. Kent was right; the last few weeks had been the best since before Christmas, just without the kissing.

Bitty rolled over again, burying his face in the soft pillow in frustration. He couldn’t ignore the way his crush on Kent F Parson had evolved into such scary depth of feeling. If Bitty was being honest with himself, he had half hoped to be in Kent’s room, maybe after a night on the town. But instead he was lying alone in bed, and both Jack and Kent were just a couple of walls away. 

Giving up on any hope of sleep, Bitty slipped out of bed with half an idea of a glass of water and maybe trying to work out how the TV worked in the den. He definitely wasn’t curious about whether Kent was awake. Or maybe if Jack was awake. His one and only mission was water. And maybe TV.

Except that when Bitty opened his door and stepped out into the hallway, he found both Jack _and_ Kent frozen in the act of exiting their own respective bedrooms. For an uncomfortably long moment, all three of them stared at each other like a Mexican standoff involving boxer shorts and no shirts.

“Well this is awkward,” Kent leant against his doorframe, feigning casual and looking around at them all, arms folded around himself protectively. 

“I want some water,” Jack frowned, his tone somewhat defensive. Kent raised an eyebrow at him, before turning his attention to Bitty.

“So what’s your excuse?”

Bitty just stared at them all, pondering the ridiculous situation and how he had ever gotten himself involved with these two. His mind flashed forward to something else, something intangible; to a moment in time when all three of them were like this and comfortable. He shook his head.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he owned up, shrugging his shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jack’s shoulders loosen up a little, and Kent shot him a sympathetic look.

“Come on, I’ll make hot chocolate.” He wondered off down the hall to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “you too, Zimms.”

Kent prided himself on making a decent hot chocolate, complete with cream and marshmallows. Usually he was on an extremely strict diet, so hot chocolates were a rare luxury. But if ever there was a time and a place for a bit of decadence it was here and now, in the middle of the night with his ex-boyfriend and his ex-boyfriend’s ex-boyfriend.

He carried the drinks back to the sofa, offering first to Bitty and then Jack, before returning for his own drink. Jack, the great moose, was sitting across from Bitty again, which just made Kent roll his eyes. Well, he had no such reserves. He plonked himself down next to Bitty so their thighs were pressed together. He felt Bitty press back into his space as they started to sip their drinks.

Jack, looking perplexed, seemed to fidget on the other sofa by himself. He set his cup down on the coffee table, and for a moment Kent was sure he was going to excuse himself and go back to bed.

“I, uh, really did want a water,” he said, standing up and looking awkward. 

“Oh, sorry, Zimms,” Kent apologised, but Jack waved him off, even raising a small smile.

“Don’t worry, Kenny, the chocolate was good.”

Kent sighed, sinking back into the sofa as Jack stepped out of view. He shot a look at Bitty who was still pressed up against him.

“You mad at me, Bits?”

“No, honey,” Bitty shrugged, putting his mug down on the coffee table. “I’m not mad.” 

Kent slumped sideways, head landing on Bitty’s shoulder, and he turned his head to breathe Bitty in, curling into his neck.

“I fucked up, Bits,” he whispered, feeling even more miserable when Bitty began to pet him, running his fingers through Kent’s hair.

He turned his head when he heard Jack clear his throat. He was standing just off to the side, hands empty and eyes wide as he observed them, and Kent wondered what Jack must be thinking. Had Bitty told Jack about him and Kent? Because Kent knew he had deliberately not mentioned it, which on reflection was probably an even worse idea than this car smash. Any hope of building a friendship between them seemed to be rapidly slipping away.

But then Bitty reached out to Jack. “Come here, sweetheart,” he instructed, patting the vacant seat to his right. Jack went obediently, dropping down into the seat and matching Kent by curling into Bitty’s other side, until they were wrapped up in one large cuddle pile on the sofa. Kent felt Bitty exhale beside him, his whole body relaxing. They stayed like that in comfortable silence, Kent feeling tired and wrung out and just happy to be cuddled when he really didn’t feel like he deserved it.

“Why can’t it be like this all the time,” Bitty mused in a small voice, breaking the moment.

Kent stopped breathing; Bitty couldn’t mean that. Could he?

“What do you mean?” Jack’s deep voice sounded more curious than anything else. 

“Jack, honey, I love you,” Kent sat up, suddenly feeling like he was intruding, but Bitty’s hand was on his thigh, and his fingers tightened reflexively in warning; _don’t you move_. So Kent stayed put, looking over Bitty’s shoulder to where Jack was giving all his attention to the boy between them.

“I still don’t know why you felt like the thing to do was finish our relationship, but they were your reasons and I respect that. But if Kent is right,” and he turned to the guy in question who tried to shrink back because he didn’t want to be involved in this at all. Bitty gave him a pointed look. “If we did want to give it another go, Jack, then it’s only right and fair that you know I like Kent too.”

“That date,” Jack seemed to be thinking out loud. “The one everyone was chirping you about…”

“It was with Kent, yes,” Bitty held up his chin, almost defiantly, even though Kent wanted to be anywhere but there. He held his breath, waiting for Jack to explode, but instead he just nodded.

“I know it’s a mess,” Bitty sighed. “But why can’t we break the rules? Who says we can’t try to work together? Work something out?”

“Bitty,” Jack was shaking his head, his face unreadable. “I love you, I really do, and I understand about Kent but,” blue eyes flashed across to where Kent was still wishing invisibility was an actual thing. “Kenny and I, we can’t go back.”

Bitty looked like he was seconds away from tears, as he started to apologise, wringing his hands and tucking back into himself where, only moments before, he had started to unfurl. Kent decided to be brave and grab the bull by the horns.

“Zimms,” he interrupted, causing both boys to turn to him. “Look, I know we can’t go back. Heck, I wouldn’t even _want_ to go back. But,” he paused, looking between them both. “Maybe we could build something new?”

Jack blinked at him, as though Kent had just said something completely unexpected.

“Look, you love him, right?”

“Yes,” Jack didn’t even pause, and there was so much conviction in his voice, Bitty let out a sob and almost threw himself into Jack’s arms. Jack caught him easily, holding him tight and comforting him. Every so often he looked over Bitty’s shoulder, staring at Kent like he was trying to read his mind.

“Oh my gosh,” Bitty finally sat back, and Kent hopped up to go get him a tissue. “You boys’ll be the death of me, y’all know that don’t you,” he sniffed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make y’all uncomfortable. I know I don’t really know your history.”

Both Jack and Kent started to talk at once, rushing to reassure him that it was fine.

“Come here, you,” Kent shuffled over into Bitty’s space, giving him a quick hug. “You’re fine, Bits. We’ll work it out. Whatever you want.” Bitty felt warm and real in his arms, and whatever happened at the end of this really fucking weird night, Kent would always have the memory of this.

“Something new,” Jack mused, nodding his head, catching both Bitty and Kent’s attention. Bitty gaped at him and Kent felt the world slow to a stop. He knew that look. That was Jack’s game plan look. “We probably need to discuss this a lot more. But maybe that’s what we all need; something new.”

Watching Jack kiss Bitty was the most beautiful thing Kent had ever witnessed. It was tender and private, and he felt privileged to be allowed to look. Certainly Bitty was holding onto his wrist awfully tight, as though worried Kent would disappear as soon as he closed his eyes. At the first press of Jack’s lips, Bitty had whimpered and yeah, Kent could understand that. Then Bitty leaned back, turning round to face him. Damn, but he was beautiful in the dim light. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were sparkling, and Kent remembered that feeling that made him lean forward for that first kiss all those weeks ago in the club.

He imagined he could taste Jack on Bitty’s lips, cupping Bitty’s cheek with his hand as he tentatively ran his tongue across those delightful cherry-red lips. There was a hand on his shoulder, someone else leaning in close, and when he opened his eyes he found Jack pressing in close, kissing lightly at the back of Bitty’s neck. His eyes were blown black.

“Hey Kenny,” he whispered, a teasing smile playing about his lips. Kent had long given up hope of ever seeing that look aimed at him again. He leaned over Bitty’s shoulder automatically, and Jack met him half way. Oh, and Kent was home, wrapped up in the pair of them.

Bitty giggled, so Kent kissed his nose.

+

Bitty’s bedroom was the closest, so they squidged themselves in the bed, all of them craving as much skin as possible as they pressed together. Jack and Kent formed a Bittle sandwich, and while the first few minutes felt a bit awkward as they tried to work out how to move together without anyone getting pitched onto the floor, soon the atmosphere was heady and relaxed. 

Bitty was making the cutest noises as they deftly stripped him, and then Jack was pressed up behind Kent, chin hooked over his shoulder, all familiarity and ease, making Kent shiver with anticipation.

“What shall we do with him, Kenny?” Jack sounded light, teasing, and then he kissed Kent’s neck, nipping a little at his throat. Bitty looked up at them both in delight.

Well Kent knew what he wanted. He hadn’t even had half a chance the last time to show off his full repertoire of tricks when it came to sucking cock, and Bittle’s really was exquisite. He looked down at it, licking his lips, but then Jack was whispering in his ear.

“Oh, fuck Zimms, you do have the best ideas,” he enthused, and just because he could, he leant forward to steal a kiss, hungry and deep.

Then, before Bitty could pout at being left out, Jack was flipping him onto his belly, murmuring words of encouragement, and Bitty went happily resting his head on his hands. Kent slipped off the bed, heading for his bathroom for supplies, returning a few moments later to Bitty’s moans where Jack was licking into him. He paused in the doorway, drinking in the sight of glorious shoulders. Something new, indeed! Jack sure had grown in the past few years, and there was a whole new knot of want growing tighter in Kent’s gut. These two gorgeous people had somehow fallen out of the sky and invited him into their life. He shook his head, and re-joined them on the bed.

By the sounds of things, Bitty loved being eaten out, and yeah Kent was keen to try that out some time. But Jack had a plan, and Kent was more than happy to follow. Jack patted the camber of Bitty’s gorgeous ass, encouraging him to move. A bit more manoeuvring and Jack was leaning up against the headboard, Bitty balanced on his lap and his back against Jack’s chest, while Kent kneed by Jack’s feet.

With a click, Jack opened the lube and drizzled an amount on his fingers, reaching down to tease and press, and Kent was treated to more amazing noises and Bitty pulling all kinds of faces as Jack found his mark. Bitty reached for him and Kent went gladly, swallowing Bitty’s moans with sweet kisses as Jack made sure he was ready. 

Kent might have allowed himself to imagine what Bitty looked like while he was being fucked, but it couldn’t compare to the real thing. As he finally sank down, taking Jack's cock little by little, moaning softly, Kent had to grip his own cock. They were both breathtakingly beautiful. Jack was flushed, his bangs clinging to his forehead as he settled his hands on Bitty’s hips once the boy was fully settled on his lap. Kent joined them, scooting close and kissing first one then the other. Bitty was making the most delightful little gasps with every movement, his cock bobbing invitingly. With a final bite to Jack’s lip, Kent dropped down to the task at hand.

They worked in tandem, Bitty’s hands knotting in Kent’s hair as he began to suck Bitty down. Jack fucked up, and so Kent groaned happily as Bitty’s cock hit the back of his throat. Yeah, Jack had the best ideas.

Bitty was still letting out little helpless moans, crying out their names as he got lost between them. Kent reached out to touch Jack who took his hand, gripping it firmly as he murmured words of encouragement to Bitty. 

It was over quickly; to be fair there was only so much you could do in the middle of the night – especially the kind of night they had just been through. Highly emotional just didn’t seem to cover it. Bitty came first, splashing across Kent’s face, much to Kent’s delight. And then Jack, in one of the hottest moves Kent had ever witnessed, pulled Kent up so he could lick his face. Bittle had wriggled out of the way, feeling over sensitive after his orgasm. He was happy to watch as Jack and Kent brought each other off, foreheads resting together as they picked up the pace.

Afterwards, as they all lay there in a tangled sweaty and sticky heap, Kent sighed happily. 

“Well I don’t know about you,” he quipped, “but I think this is going to be a fantastic weekend.”

Jack snorted, and Bitty slapped his shoulder, all three of them dissolving into helpless laughter. Fuck, it felt so good to lie there and laugh. They cleaned up as much as they could, and then clicked out the light to settle down and try to sleep.

“We’ll be all right, won’t we?” Bitty’s voice sounded small and unsure in the dark, and Kent reached out to find his hand, fingers brushing over Jack’s at the same time.

“Yes,” There was Jack’s steady voice, still full of the same conviction. “I promise, Bitty. I’m not going anywhere.”

“We’re gonna be just fine.” Kent added his voice to the declarations. “We’re going to _communicate_. We’re going to _not_ be ridiculous jack-asses,” he ignored the way Jack elbowed him in the side, letting out a grumpy harrumph. “And we’re gonna have so much awesome sex when we’re all in the same State.”

“Oh shush!” Bitty flumped him with a pillow, and Kent laughed openly, warm and loved in the arms of his boyfriends.


	2. Bonus End Credits Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The credits have got to that bit just past the soundtrack listing where it assures us that all characters depicted in the film are purely fictional, and then it's the copyright notices. Nearly everyone else has gone. But then... a reward for your patience. The bonus end credits scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello gentle readers
> 
> Firstly thank you for all the lovely kudos and amazing comments you have left on the main fic which was intended as a oneshot. But then I was thinking about the follow up - and this happened. It wasn't enough for a fic all by itself, but I hope you enjoy.

_Interesting questions have been raised in the Hockey World today after photos emerged showing Aces Captain Kent Parson schmoozing with one Jack Zimmermann in Vegas last weekend, fresh from his first season in the NHL with the Providence Falconers. Of course the history between these two players is legendary, and now we must consider whether this latest - no-doubt informal – meetup hints towards a possibly reunion for the pair._

_Though of course the hot question everyone is asking is who was schmoozing who? Are the Aces interested in poaching Jack Zimmermann to complete their front line and perhaps see Stanley Cup glory next season? Or, after a decidedly average season, will Parson finally be traded away from the Aces after failing to make the playoffs? Stay tuned for further developments…_

+

Kent got collared – almost quite literally – by Mac when he turned up for practise on Thursday. He was practically frogmarched into the office and told to sit down. Kent wondered what the fuck he’d done now and whether he would be needing a rep or something.

“Are you in talks with the Providence Falconers?” Mac stood over him, looking the most serious Kent had ever seen him, and just for a second Kent’s entire brain went blank, because _what_?

Mac chucked a piece of paper down on the desk, a print out of some sort, and at the top was a photograph of Kent sitting at a table in a bar with Jack. The background was blurred out, as was the smaller person sitting between them, and it took Kent a few seconds to realise the photo must have been taken last weekend.

“Are you,” Mac repeated, “in talks with the Falconers?”

Kent looked up at him wide-eyed. “No,” he replied, looking back down at the photo. Zimms was leaning forward, smiling broadly, and the way Kent was looking back at him… it was a raw happiness, and Kent wondered how the heck he was going to explain it.

Mac sighed, and sat down opposite Kent, still looking serious.

“Have you been approached in any way by them or by Jack Zimmermann, or anyone representing them?”

Kent shook his head, feeling the blush rise in his cheeks because he had been so focussed on this weekend it had never occurred to him how it might have been seen by the outside world. Their alleged rivalry was infamous. What other reason could there possibly be for the two going for drinks together?

“Parson, you must understand that we take this sort of thing extremely seriously,” Kent could only nod, swallowing because his mouth felt impossibly dry. “So why are you sitting there looking as guilty as sin?”

“Mac,” Kent croaked, finding his voice at last, “it was just drinks. Here!” Hit by sudden inspiration, Kent dug through his pockets, producing his phone and flicking to the gallery. Feeling momentarily grateful that Jack had talked him out of his bright idea regarding photos of _other_ things, he skipped to the night in question. As he selected the photo of all three of them – heads squished together to fit in the frame – he felt a flash of anger that he had to share this with someone else, this precious moment that was just theirs as they built their new and exciting relationship. But he flipped the phone round and pushed it across the desk.

“The guy in the middle,” he tapped the blurred photo of Bitty – clearly the fact that Zimms and Kent weren’t alone during their important hockey negotiations hadn’t been worthy of reporting. Mac paused, eyes flicking between the two photos. “That’s Pie Guy – the one who sends the cookies. He’s a friend of Jack’s from school. I invited them down for the weekend.”

There were a few moments of silence while Mac drummed his fingers on the desk. Eventually he sighed heavily and sat back in his chair, and Kent had never been more grateful for Bittle’s compulsive feeding habit.

“So if we put a statement out saying this whole thing is a pile of crap, I’m not going to look like a lying politician in a few weeks am I?”

“No, sir,” Kent replied promptly, taking his phone back and pocketing it.

When he exited the office, he could feel eyes on him from all sides. A couple of players loitering in the lobby shot him weird looks. Swearing under his breath, Kent fired off a text to the group chat: _Heads up – just got chewed out by management about photos of us at the wkend_

His message came too late for one Jack Zimmermann, though mercifully George had been a lot more understanding about why Jack might have been visiting Kent Parson in Vegas. She’d promised to defuse the situation (and threatened that no one would ever find the body if Jack was lying to her). That was fine, and absolutely paled in comparison to the interrogation Bitty was being subjected to back at the Haus.

Only Lardo had been home when Bitty had arrived back from his weekend away, feeling like his feet weren’t quite touching the ground, and she had eyed him suspiciously as he dragged his suitcase up the Haus steps.

“Good weekend?” she’d enquired, while he smiled dopily in return.

“Yup!” he replied, unable to keep the grin off his face.

“Ready to come clean yet?” she challenged.

“Honey, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Now as Bitty returned to the Haus from lectures, he was pounced upon by Ransom and Holster who appeared to be holding an unofficial Haus meeting.

“You’re out of your mind!” Ransom was exclaiming just as Bitty opened the front door. And then he jumped as Rans appeared in the hallway, pointing at him and yelling “AH-HA!”

“Bitty will be able to settle this…” and then Bitty was having a phone shoved in his face.

“You speak to Jack,” Ransom encouraged, “did he say anything about joining the Aces?”

“What?!” Bitty squeaked, almost dropping his bag and taking hold of the phone being waved in front of his nose. The browser was open at a gossip site, and the first thing Bitty saw was the picture of Jack and Parse; Jack and Parse and _himself_ – mercifully blurred out – sitting between them in the same shirt he was wearing right at that moment, and suddenly he felt really self-conscious.

But Ransom, Holster, Dex, Nursey and Chowder were all staring at him intently, almost bouncing with excitement, waiting for his verdict. So Bitty skimmed the text underneath the photograph.

“Pretty wild, huh?” Bitty jumped as Lardo appeared at his elbow. “Jack flying all the way to Vegas to have some drinks with Parse?” Bitty gulped at the all-too-innocent expression on her face.

+

“Honestly, I didn’t think I was going to get out alive!” 

Bitty exhaled, trying to calm down, hugging Senior Bun as he sat cross-legged on his bed, looking down at the smiling faces on his laptop. Well, Jack was smiling; Kent was pretending to scowl.

“Huh, at least you didn’t get shaken down by your management first thing in the morning!” he groused, and Bitty glowed at how cute Kent was with his nose scrunched up like that. Jack clearly thought so too, laughing lightly. Kent pouted at him, in response, but then his lips twitched and he grinned, in spite of himself.

There was a pause in the conversation, Bitty looking at his two boys, looking back at him.

“This is… nice, right?” he whispered, hugging Senior Bun even tighter and feeling a little thrill of happiness.

The morning after one of the weirdest nights of Bitty’s life, there had been pancakes and a lot of talking. There had been plenty of scowling from Kent who was clearly uncomfortable with Serious Conversations (“what, so one of you can change your mind? Great!” – Bitty took that as a sign that the conversation was even more important than he originally thought, and that Kent needed to be bundled between the two of them and squished until he got the message that neither of them were going anywhere.). In contrast there was Jack who was approaching the whole thing like it was a game against a particularly difficult team. 

In the middle of all of that was Bitty and a notebook. “And you can laugh all you want, Mr Parson, but we all clearly suck at communication so y’all gonna help me come up with some basic ground rules so this doesn’t implode the moment I get on the plane home.”

The sulking and the intense frowning had been worth it. They came up with a couple of basic rules, mostly to do with communication and listening, and believing someone when they said they were fine. They’d set up a group chat so they could all chat across the time zones and training schedules and college timetables.

There were the usual snaps and selfies; Jack was normally the first to say good morning and goodnight, and there was something pleasingly domestic about the whole thing, even though it had only been four days since they’d all said goodbye. 

There was a chorus of “yeah Bits, it’s great,” from the skype session, and it was so nice to hear their voices. He hugged Senior Bun even tighter.

“You cold, Bits?” Kent was looking at him with concern. “You need to move to Vegas.”

“I think my Ma would have a heart attack if I moved to Vegas,” Bitty giggled.

“Eh, all right, so you winter in Vegas with me and then we’ll both move in with Zimms for the summer – that better?”

There was a chorus of chuckles, comfortable and familiar.

“So, uh, I wanted to ask,” Bitty suddenly felt nervous. “How d’y’all feel about Fourth of July in Georgia?”

There was a short pause.

“You… want me to meet your parents?” Kent’s face was completely blank, and Bitty swore his heart was suddenly in his mouth. He cast a glance over to Jack who was looking very serious, his attention on Kent rather than Bitty. 

“If that’s ok?” Bitty squeaked. But then Kent exhaled and there was that smile again, the shaky one breaking through the Kent Parson façade, like he honestly couldn’t believe his life sometimes.

“Sure. Parents. How bad can it be?”

“Well, I don’t know, Kenny,” Jack winked over skype. “Do you know anything about football?”

Bitty laughed, the tension breaking completely, as Kent groaned, facepalming.

“Oh, man, your dad is gonna hate me so bad.”

**Author's Note:**

> The alternative title for this was "Twelve Weeks of Ado About Nothing" or "Jack Zimmermann Has Never Had It So Good"
> 
> The title is stolen from Rent's "Seasons of Love". Measure your life in love, people.
> 
> Thanks to Claire and Sarah - I particularly enjoy feeding off Claire's screams.


End file.
